


Eternal Satisfaction

by HoneyGrunge



Category: The Sandman (Comics)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Bathroom Sex, Desperation, F/M, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Graphic Smut, Other, Stranger Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 22:44:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyGrunge/pseuds/HoneyGrunge
Summary: Morpheus has only just escaped his glass prison. He suffers another form of hunger that the story failed to mention, which you will satiate for him.Applicable to readers of any gender/sexual identity.





	Eternal Satisfaction

Cool air. 

FRESH air. 

The faint stink of skunk marijuana that the nodding guards have been puffing. 

The boring notes of a stale sandwich. 

These are the first and last things that Morpheus registers upon his escape.

And just like that, in less than a heartbeat, in the time bending snap of a continuum loop, he's gone. 

Free. 

Yet still a prisoner.

He's starving, in more ways than one. His essence is nearly faded; he must find sustenance before he loses the strength to go on. He raids Mort Notkin's recurring dream, completely nude and ignoring the shocked titters of the dream's inhabitants as he gorges himself at the buffet. 

His ribs are jutting; his pelvis clearly defined. Yet he still retains attractive muscle mass, having fed on the excess dreams he could snatch away from the mansion's sleepers.

Morpheus flees the dream, arms heavy laden with as much food as he can carry. He slumps in the endless dark of the void, starry eyes flashing whilst he crams himself to the point of vomiting. Then he chokes down some more, moaning as energy bleeds into his starved veins.

Finally, he finishes, and uses his newfound energy to craft himself some clothing.

But he still has a need. 

An animalistic desperation clawing at his psyche.

He needs sexual release.

As the master of stories, the weaver of dreams, he too has a sexual nature. His sibling Death less so; Death deals only with the necrophiliacs.

And so he enters your world, groaning as the switch drains more of that precious energy. Rain flattens his long onyx locks against his emaciated face while he hunts. He senses every human he passes by: their loneliness, their likelihood to give him what he wants. 

A mind is easily broken, but more power is gained from a willing participant. 

The doors of the club swing closed as he enters. The crowd parts for his aura, shy gazes dropping from his pupils. His eyes carry galaxies. It's impossible to stare into them without feeling peeled back and exposed. 

Laid bare on the examination table of the universe. 

You're slumped against the bar when he finds you, hips jutting out in a less than subtle invitation. This way, your body whispers. Find your escape in my willing heat.

And he can't help but answer that ancient call.

His dark form fills your vision, distraught face softened with satisfaction.

"A drink?" he murmurs, watching you through his milky orbs while you size him up.

"Or perhaps a dance?" he suggests, thin hand sliding up to fondle your hip.

He senses your agreement before you get the chance to speak, pinching a portion of the guard's dream sand out of his pocket and flicking it into your face. Your eyes roll in your skull and he leads you to the back, thunking open a bathroom door and pulling you inside. 

It's dingy, disgusting. 

But it will do just fine.

You're soaring between the planes, eyes flicking back and forth almost imperceptibly. Dream whispers into your ear and his voice echoes in your cranium, distant despite his proximity. He's soothing you; charming your mind into submission. 

"I wish not to harm you," his ageless voice rasps. "I will steal years from the end of your life. But in return, you will earn a happier existence. I grant you eternal satisfaction."

Your bones give a slight creaking, dust gathering in your marrow as 15 years slide away. But you're uncaring, smiling blissfully into his chest as he bares himself to you. Your underwear is lowered and pushed aside; he's twisted you around and bent you over. 

Cold fingers dig into your hips. Warm, blunt flesh prods at you. 

A thrust, a groan, a wail. 

And he's filling you, stretching more than you've ever been stretched. You flicker in and out of your dreamscape when he starts to move, desperation speeding his movements. You're creating quite the cacophony, but nobody with bother you. Two crackheads fucking in a seedy bathroom is a common occurrence here.

His voice is music to your ears, deepening your arousal as he drags you up into the planes with him. You can see things. Unimaginable things. Terrifying, yet beautiful. But you're safe, nestled against his spirit as it feeds on your physical and incorporeal offerings.

It's over far too quickly with a simultaneous peak. You scream into the void, pleasure unlike any other ripping over your frail human spirit. It strips your mind bare, but Morpheus is caring enough to rebuild you. You regain one of the stolen years when he releases, essence blinding you as it finishes consuming your life force.

And then you're empty, the Endless being's seed sliding down your shivering thighs. His long, cold fingers withdrawing from your dazed soul. 

"No! No, more, please, let me have more," you gasp, but he's already gone, leaving you alone with the bugs and graffiti. 

You would feel empty if not for his gift. The existential diamond ebbs, your drained humanity clinging to it like a blind faith. But this faith isn't blind. It is beautiful, and it is real.

And you know in your soul that this won't be your last meeting with the one they call Dream.

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter and Tumblr: Maedhros36  
> I hope you enjoyed <333


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